


undone

by acacias



Category: Hyrule Warriors: Age of Calamity (Video Game), The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Napoleonic Wars, Alternate Universe - Regency, Arranged Marriage, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Sex, F/M, Interspecies Awkwardness, Interspecies Relationship(s), Politics, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-16 17:48:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29828637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acacias/pseuds/acacias
Summary: “Who am I to marry?” Mipha asks eventually, not that it makes any difference; she knows nothing of the Rito other than what is written in the reports from the front lines and in the press.Rather than answer, Dorephan passes her the document in his hand, and she scans its contents impatiently - and when she sees the name, written in neat and flowing script, she looks up sharply, distraught.“Revali?” she demands, and her father has to fight against the sudden and shameful desire to turn his face from her in remorse. “- the same Revali who led the Rito across our borders, whose -dishonourablestrategies have cost the lives of countless of our soldiers, who -”Lanayru, home to the Zora: a peaceful nation founded on principles of neutrality and the promotion of peace, ensnared without warning in the decades-long struggle for supremacy between Hyrule and the Rito.Presented with an opportunity to bring an end to the conflict, Mipha, Crown Princess of Lanayru, resolves to do so at any cost.
Relationships: Mipha/Revali (Legend of Zelda), Other Relationship Tags to Be Added
Comments: 14
Kudos: 30





	undone

**Author's Note:**

> thanks as always to [sun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sturms_sun_shattered/pseuds/sturms_sun_shattered), whose fault this also is, for betaing. (〃ﾉωﾉ) ♥

_  
love and war are the same thing, and  
stratagems and policy are as allowable in  
the one as in the other._  
  
\- miguel de cervantes  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Winter, 1809

Crown Princess Mipha of Lanayru wakes at dawn, the morning’s first pale light streaming through a narrow gap in the heavy silk brocades drawn across her window to dance upon the surface of the water filling her sleeping pool: a round ceramic basin, white, its lip edged in gold leaf, half as deep as she is tall and just over twice her height in diameter, set on six brass supports resembling the claws of some great sea serpent and covered over by a diaphanous veil of sheer lace, suspended from an elegant brass frame encircling the pool and draped gracefully around it.

For five minutes or more she remains where she is, nestled amid the soft and delicate fronds of the aquatic plants with which the interior of the pool is lined, auburn, sea-green and lilac, grateful to have been woken by the dawn and not by the thunder of war in the distance or by the arrival in her chambers of some breathless messenger bringing news from the front: yet more casualties among the ranks of the Zora, yet more of their lands occupied by the Rito.

For the last blessed month Mipha has been permitted to wake in this peaceful manner, having been greeted every other morning of the past six years or so by reports of some new setback in their efforts to push back the invaders and by the terrible sounds of the conflict, the firing of muskets and of the light artillery of which their adversaries are so fond, and which had decimated the unprepared Zoran detachment sent out in haste to confront the enemy: distant at first, and over time drawing inexorably closer to the capital, to Mipha and all those she holds dear.

But now they are to negotiate terms, or rather the Rito are to negotiate terms with Hyrule; it is, after all, their conflict with one another in which the Zora have found themselves caught, the Rito setting foot in Lanayru only after the Hylian invasion of Hebra had ended in stalemate, enduring year upon year without hope of resolution. Doubtless their intention had been to disrupt trade with the Hylians, that their forces persisting in Hebra might be more easily pushed back; a logical move, and one without mercy or care.

Even so, there is still the governance of the kingdom to attend to, made only more difficult by the long years of war; and so Mipha leaves her pool at last, wraps herself loosely in the fine silken robe left neatly folded on the tiled mosaic floor nearby and crosses the room to throw open the woven drapes, leaving the sheer lace voiles behind to move gently in the hyemal draft issuing from under the glass-panelled doors leading out to her balcony.

A clock strikes in the hallway, signalling the turn of the hour, and Laflat steps into the room as if summoned, carrying a silver tray.

“Lady Mipha, good morning,” she chimes, placing the tray on Mipha’s writing desk and setting out its contents: the morning’s correspondence and a delicate cup, white porcelain painted with lifelike blue flowers, from which a haze of steam rises and diffuses, and Mipha turns to settle into her chair, the open mahogany frame upholstered in jade-green satin, offering a smile and a word of thanks to her aide as she takes the cup in both hands, enjoying the warmth it provides.

Laflat perches daintily at the open end of the chaise to Mipha’s right, and together they enjoy the morning’s quiet, Mipha watching the parcel of tea leaves and jasmine blossom at the base of her cup slowly unfold, Laflat gazing out at the palace grounds, the landscaped wetlands covered lightly over with frost and the lakes frozen over, the sighing of the wind through the bare branches of the willows the only sound to be heard.

“Will it last, do you think?” Laflat asks, and Mipha sips her tea with an air of latent unrest.

“I try not to.” Mipha’s tone, kept light, nonetheless betrays something of the pervasive anxiety that has afflicted the entire Domain since the start of the ceasefire. “If the Rito agree terms with the Hylians, then yes. But it’s out of our control -”

But their conversation is cut short when Mipha’s father steps into the room, a piece of folded paper held in one hand.

“Mipha.” Dorephan’s urgent tone fills her with apprehension, though she cannot say exactly why. “I require a moment of your time. Laflat, if you would not mind -”

\- but Laflat is already leaving, bowing her head in deference first to the King and then to Mipha, her hands pressed together at chest height and her fingertips pointing upwards, before exiting the room.

Dorephan moves to stand before Mipha, allowing her to examine more closely the document in his hand: folded neatly in three, lines of elegant copperplate script visible on the inside of the outermost fold where Dorephan’s claw separates it from the rest, a vermilion wax seal stamped with the emblem of the Rito affixed to its edge.

“Is that -?” Mipha starts to ask, and Dorephan nods his head.

“It is,” he replies, the severity of his tone only heightening Mipha’s sense of unease; she reaches out for the letter, but Dorephan keeps a resolute hold of it, moving his hand just slightly to keep it from her grasp. “These are the terms proposed by the Rito. By all accounts they ask more of us than they do of the Kingdom of Hyrule.”

“How so?” Mipha asks, her tone brightening, hopeful that it might after all be within the power of the Zora to bring an end to the occupation of their lands, that perhaps their fate will not be decided by the reception the proposed peace terms receive at the court of King Rhoam.

“We are asked to reduce trade with the Hylians,” Dorephan answers, somewhat absently. “As might have been expected. Also to reduce our borders and cede the territory given up to the Rito, that they might establish an… outpost of sorts in Lanayru.”

“However.” Dorephan presses the folded letter distractedly between his fingertips. “We will discuss all this with the Council in due course. But there is one other matter -” and he breathes out a quiet sound of discontent, as though whatever he must say next offends him - “that I wish to discuss with you privately. The Rito -”

Dorephan sets his jaw, as though steeling himself to say whatever it is he is about to.

“- are seeking an alliance by marriage,” he finishes at last, and Mipha laughs, bitter and humourless.

“Zelda won’t agree to it,” she says dismissively, and sets her cup aside. If the Rito are determined to be so unreasonable then presumably hostilities are to be renewed before long, and Mipha reaches for the first of the documents brought by Laflat in the hope that it will provide some distraction from the prospect, keep her from tears at the thought.

“I regret,” Dorephan says softly, “that it is not Princess Zelda this concerns.”

Mipha withdraws her hand from her correspondence, turns in her seat to face her father, folds her hands in her lap, and they look at one other in silence, the ticking of the clock out in the hall suddenly oppressively loud, the sound almost invasive.

“Who am I to marry?” she asks eventually, not that it makes any difference; she knows nothing of the Rito other than what is written in the reports from the front lines and in the press. Certainly she has never met one before, nor did she imagine she ever would; before all this they were content to keep to themselves in the far reaches of Hebra, remote and inhospitable, and how she wishes they would have remained so.

Rather than answer, Dorephan passes her the document in his hand, and she scans its contents impatiently, unconcerned with whatever the Rito want of the Hylians and whatever else they ask of the Zora other than her hand - and when she sees the name, written in neat and flowing script, she looks up sharply, distraught.

“ _Revali_?” she demands, and her father has to fight against the sudden and shameful desire to turn his face from her in remorse. “- the same Revali who led the Rito across our borders, whose - _dishonourable_ strategies have cost the lives of countless of our soldiers, who -”

“I did not know your mother when I married her -” Dorephan cuts in, desperate for anything to say that might comfort her, but the words have the opposite effect to that he had hoped for.

“Mother was a _Zora_ ,” Mipha snaps, rising abruptly to her feet, pushing back her chair so violently that it falls to the tiled floor, the sound shattering the morning’s peace with a note of finality. Leaving it there, she turns on her heel and moves to the window, running her hands over her caudal keel in distress. “- and _she_ had not led an army against us and occupied our lands!”

For a long moment she stands in silence, and then she shakes her head in agitation and disbelief, lifting her hands briefly to her face before composing herself.

“This is - _unnecessary_ ,” she says, and after another long moment of silence whispers, almost to herself, “- it’s cruel.”

Dorephan kneels to embrace her, one hand at the small of her back and the other on her caudal keel. For a moment Mipha stands still, unmoving - and then she returns the embrace, resting her cheek against Dorephan’s arm.

“Whether or not you wish to accept is entirely your decision,” he says softly, stroking her caudal keel as he would when, as a child, she would come running into his chambers having been woken in the night by some unhappy dream. “Certainly neither I, nor any one of our people would blame you for refusing.”

“What would you advise me?” she asks, and he realises, to his shame, that some part of him had hoped she wouldn’t, that he need be complicit neither in the renewal of hostilities nor in the surrender of his only daughter to the enemy.

“As your sovereign, I can advise only that you consider the welfare of the Domain and of our people. As your father…”

Dorephan falls silent, fearing he may weep.

“This is - not at all what I would wish for you,” he manages, after a moment’s pause.

Mipha shakes her head, lifts her hands to her face once more.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, and Dorephan releases a sigh.

“There is nothing to apologise for,” he assures her, and she separates herself from him, brushing at a crease in the fine fabric of her robe.

“I accept, of course,” she says, her usual serene composure now mostly restored, because what other option is there? - and Dorephan nods, overcome with relief and sorrow in equal measure.

“I thank you, and must leave you,” he says, regretful, and she embraces him again, promising to attend the Council at the appointed time.

Left alone, her father closing the doors to her chamber gently behind him, Mipha sinks onto the chaise, and buries her face in her hands.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! kudos and comments are very, very much appreciated ♥


End file.
